


Sunshine and Snow

by shadow_in_the_shade



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4618872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_in_the_shade/pseuds/shadow_in_the_shade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of Damen/ Laurent snippets. So far so angsty but with porn and happiness to follow. :-) </p><p>Also I may kill The Regent. A lot. </p><p>All TW's for the series apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Small scene, set between chapters 3 and 4, book 1. Angsty.**

1.

Given the steam that rose up through the cloying bath house air, the water was not quite as hot as it looked. It was still hot though, almost too hot to bear. That was good. Laurent slipped in slowly, forcing himself not to feel the heat. It would not touch him, melt him, even hurt him. It was not even there. Not feeling it was an effort of will; He was good at efforts of will, would even have enjoyed it if he was not otherwise so discomposed.

He was not sure quite what it was that was making him feel so strange. It was not even that he had been left standing naked and covered in soap, alone in the bath house with the slaves’ uninvited touch still burning at his wrist. Something to do with that, maybe, but not only. He watched the way the water moved against his skin dispassionately, not for the first time seeing himself as though he was far away, flying over his own body looking down on it in curiosity. He had somehow perfected the art of detachment from himself long ago, but it never hurt to practice further. _Somehow._ He knew damn well when he had started to perfect it.

He felt like a stranger to himself and for once it seemed to matter; a jarring feeling like walking into a room and not remembering what you had come in for in the first place. Just so it was strange to see his own skin through the water and imagine it was really his.

He was brokenly aware that he was beautiful; beautiful to a horrible degree he thought, not caring, never _caring._ He was so pale, so perfect, so breakable – his hands clenched;  _no,_ not that.Clothing felt more of a recognisable skin than skin did. And then it did not. Then it was armour and that was better yet. He rested his head on the tile and took a deep breath out, unclenched, just to feel the water do some good. Just a little. Not enough to relax, that would never do; enough to rub pleasantly at the muscles though, yes, that. He lazily looked down the length of his arm, permitting the water to soften the limb, following a path down his skin with his eyes that he barely really knew. He watched his hand push at the water, swim beneath it like a fish, fingers slaying, curling. It made him squirm and he stopped doing it, stared at his wrist again. His skin was almost translucent ; he watched the vein beneath as though it were a river surging, a dangerous thing that might break at any moment. The skin was red and would probably bruise from the slave’s foul, stupid touch.

He closed his eyes and was surprised to feel a damp that was not water or steam, sticky on his face and traced the tracks with his fingers all the way to his eyes. It was only when he reached the source that he realised he had been crying. He was as indifferent to the knowledge as anything else; a little irritated perhaps. Vaguely, absently disgusted.

Laurent took a deep breath and slipped under the water, the better to wash away what was not there anyway, make it all go away. He stayed under until long after he ran out of breath. He wondered if he could have stayed longer but no – he came up taking a gasping swallow of air. It was good, he could do this. He could do anything, deal with anything. His hands half consciously balled back into fists – he always had done, after all.

It would do. He was not prepared to stay in the water long enough to thaw out any of the ice at his core. Yes, he knew the things everyone said about him and was not entirely sure he did not like it. He stood up, water cascading from his hair, dripping from his fingers with a sensuality that would not work on him.

The imbecile had left his clothes on the not quite dry tile beside the pool. The sense of irritation this brought was almost pleasing. He dressed himself in that feeling as well as his slightly damp attire, taking near pleasure in getting more and more righteously annoyed by the minute.

He found himself smiling quietly at the thought of the punishment he was about to mete out. Nobody touched him without permission, _nobody._ Nobody confused him like this or dared to make him _feel._ His lip curled and he almost hissed into the steam, slender fingers working deftly at the laces, pulling tight, almost enough to hurt, as always.

Because he _had_ felt something. Just for a minute there when their eyes had clashed so long and so hard. Something that made his chest tight and his heart sharp. The stupid, disgusting _slave_ had made him _feel_ something – and he was doing to thrash him to within an inch of his life for it.

__x__

 

**Ugh, please be kind, this is my first toe in the water in this fandom! Also I haven’t finished book 2 yet so apologies if I’ve made any assumptions that are inaccurate or terrible and also I'm not sure if the underage and non con warnings do apply but I prefer to be safe. Idek if this is in character or not so yeah, please be kind. Also I didn’t mean to go quite so angsty, the initial idea in my head was kinda crack like a “Laurent is a secret Targaryen” thing – but in the end the only aspect of that that stayed was the really hot water. Probably a good thing. *Hides and takes shelter* :-)**

**If this isn’t awful I will definitely make this into a whole collection of snippets. :-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**More angst! This one set the morning after the events of chapter nine, book one. Quick note that I don’t know if the name of Laurent’s horse was ever mentioned, it wasn’t in the book and I couldn’t find it so I made one up, but if anyone has a definitive answer I’ll happily change it!**

He had been awake perhaps two hours, half of which had been spent in getting dressed, before announcing, not unusually, that he was going for a ride. The other half had been spent in pacing and refusing breakfast. He felt so sick with everything else he was choking down that there was no room for breakfast.

When he got to the courtyard there was a queasy moment of shock in which he almost shouted at someone – anyone – for bringing the wrong horse. Then he remembered. Why he was here in the first place today. Not that he had forgotten. It just seemed too foul, to unforgiving to even think the words aloud. _Artemisia is dead._ He swallowed hard and thanked the stable boy politely before mounting the white gelding, trying not to resent the animal for not being who it should be.

He did what he was accustomed to; rode calmly out of the palace and far enough down into the meadows before kicking into a gallop. Only with the thunder of hooves and the shuddering pace rocking though him and the mount could he begin to clear his head, even let himself breathe a little.

With breathing came memory. He had known he was going to have to face the memories at some point and was skilled enough at keeping them at bay to have waited until now. He went where he had to, needing to, not wanting to, remembering.

_“Wild this one” Auguste says, grinning, as though liking the idea – “almost like the free horses out towards the border.”_

_“You don’t think you can do it?” Laurent remembers that little boy less than he remembers his brother, that wide eyed innocent creature._

_“You need to have more faith little brother” Auguste teases, ruffling his head – “Course I can.”_

_She is a challenge though. He watches his brother rise to the occasion with wide eyed wonder thinking, someday I will be just like that, watches him put her through her paces in the training fields, while he sits on a fence or on the branch of a nearby tree to watch. Day after day they come down here and for a whole summer she is their one main project. Laurent thinks of it as “Their” project anyway, says so even though Auguste teases him gently for it. They both know Laurent has done none of the work, just watches while Auguste does it all  - watches with a persistent and enduring interest in every move that both the horse and the young man make which his older brother finds both annoying, endearing and most of all incredibly encouraging._

_He remembers two afternoons in particular. One is the first day Auguste tries to ride her. It’s a clear day, one of those golden days that only become more golden in memory. Artemisia throws him, barely breaking stride and when the boy who is not quite  man yet looks up, blinking and rubbing his head the first thing he sees is his ass of little brother holding his sides and shaking from laughing so much._

_“You think that was funny?” He glares, but he is starting to grin himself by now already. Laurent tries not to laugh but the effort makes it harder and he explodes._

_“I’ll show you funny!” Auguste chases him down from the fence on which he’s perched, he lets the chase go on for much longer than it could, as to the wrestle that follows. When Laurent is on his back on the ground, breathless and still giggling Auguste dusts his hands off and stands up –_

_“Now_ that’s _funny.” he grins and hauls his little brother to his feet. He grins back at him as he goes back to the horse for a second attempt –_

_“You want a go?”_

_Laurent, giggling, shakes his head firmly –_

_“No!”_

_“Then don’t laugh”_

_Laurent does laugh, though, every time his brother gets thrown and Auguste tolerates it with weary sighs every time._

_Then one day, finally, after what seem in memory like endless happy summer days, Auguste has finished his last trot around the yard, Laurent holding on behind. They walk together back to the stables, Laurent feeling proud because Auguste has given him the reins to lead for once._

_“She’s wonderful” he says shyly – “She’s ready now, isn’t she? You worked so hard on her, she’s perfect, yes?”_

_“Fuck me” Auguste laughs – “I think my hearing’s going cause I swear I just heard my little brother say something nice.”_

_“Shut up” Laurent sticks his tongue out and adds primly – “And you shouldn’t say fuck.”_

_“You shut up. And yeah –” they have reached the stables now and he turns to look at Laurent seriously for once – “Yeah I worked harder than usual. Breaking her in for someone special wasn’t I.”_

_“Who?” The boy’s eyes widen as he still fails to understand and as he tries to hand Auguste back the reins his brother closes his hand around them –_

_“She’s yours you idiot.”_

_Laurent grins and then shrieks, flings his arms around his brother and then his horse, unsure in that moment which of them he loves the most._

The memory broke apart as he reined the strange horse to a hard stop before the river. _It’s just a horse_ he had said. He could hear his own voice, hateful in his ears and recognised it even less than he recognised the memory of the child who had once been him. He was angry and proud all at once that he had managed to get that out.

His face was hot, his heart hammering, breathing heavy. It was a vulnerability to feel any of these things and these times were the only times he would allow it. To ride out and ride out hard was the only release he would allow himself and one nobody would ever guess at. He clenched his fists as he swung down to kneel by the river. _She was the last, the last thing I had and he killed her, he killed her, I’m going to kill him._ He unclenched his fists to take water in his hands, bring up just enough to cool his face down, cool it all down. His eyes prickled. Sometimes he wished he could cry.

By the time he got back up onto the horse he was glad again that he could not.

___x___

**I made myself sad! So I’m sorry if I made anyone else sad – this wasn’t supposed to go as bad as it did, I just wanted to explore Laurent + “Going for a ride” a bit. :-(**

**Also I know this is supposed be Damen/ Laurent and I’ve barely touched on Damen yet. I am sorry for this and will rectify this in whatever I write next! :-)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Trigger warnings for major character death (but it’s the Regent so woot woot!) and also for said Regent being a creepy manipulative cunt. Okay I admit I just wanted to write something where Laurent kills the Regent. Why wouldn’t someone want that :-)**

“Your highness” Damen almost grinned as he threw the bundle down heavily at Laurent’s feet, offering it up as though it were a gift. It was. Laurent smiled back at him briefly from his vantage point like a maiden accepting a gift, answering the almost flirtatious smile with a glint in his eye that was almost a wink. He might almost have blown him a kiss.

Damen stepped back to let Laurent get on with it, standing far enough back to not be in the way but close enough to see everything. They were back where they had started; in the great throne room at Arles, only now that whole chamber was hung with blue, golden starbursts glimmering out from a thousand fluttering pennants.

The room was quiet for a few moments. Just the two of them and the bundle at Laurent’s feet. Especially quiet for a trial, if that was even what this was.

Laurent’s smile dropped as soon as he focussed his eyes back on Damen’s offering, regarding it coldly, as though it were not a hog tied human. He unsheathed his sword as he walked down the few steps from the throne to stand above The Regent, squirming at his feet, trying to talk through the gag, trying to put himself in a less humiliating position.

“I’m doing this against my better judgement” Laurent announced, bending as fractionally as he could to until the gag – “But I confess I’m curious to hear what you think you could possibly have to say to me.” He stepped back quickly shaking his hand as though he had soiled it by the brief contact.

“Laurent –” The Regent breathed out, trying with little success to reaffirm a modicum of control that he did not have – “Don’t.”

“Yes” Laurent half sneered, half sighed – “I expected that bit” He raised his sword to point it as much as he could in the direction of the Regent’s throat. It was awkward, given the ties. He called Damen over, wordlessly; one glance and he was there. He dragged the man into a kneeling position, the better to expose his throat to Laurent’s sword.

“Try harder” Laurent said.

“Be reasonable” The Regent wheedled – “You don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t I?” Laurent raised an eyebrow – “I’m so glad you informed me uncle, I never would have known. Do go on. Tell me what I _don’t want_ to do.”

It was hard to tell, Damen thought, whether the Regent looked afraid more of the sword perilously close to his throat or the ice in Laurent’s voice, the certainty in those rigid words that had never been there before.

“I could tell you a lot of things I’ve not wanted to do” he added, eyes narrowed, voice refined to silk – “I wasn’t able at the time. So please _do_ tell me my own mind now.”

“Laurent I never meant to hurt you, you have to understand – everything I have done has been for your own good –”

Only Damen noticed Laurent’s sword hand shake. He took a step forward so that the point was on The Regent’s throat. One more step and it would pierce the skin, a lunge and it could go right through.

“My own good” Laurent echoed. “Uncle you bore me. You have always bored me and – look me in the eye when you’re lying to me!”

Damen wrenched the man’s head up obligingly.

“What do you want me to say Laurent? Do you want me to beg for my life? We both know you won’t kill me. You don’t want that, not really.”

“You _are”_ Laurent hissed, as though surprised – “It really does sound like you _are_ still telling me what I want. Amazing. But I _do_ want to hear you beg you see, just like you always wanted to hear me. Who could have thought we could be so alike.”

“Come on now –” The Regent was still using the tone of voice one would to an unreasonable child, Damen heard and he supposed that if he could hear that voice and feel it crawl disgustingly under his skin then the gods only knew what it was doing to Laurent – “You wouldn’t kill your own family –”

“Like you didn’t? _Come on now.”_ Laurent’s tone mocked the Regent’s own and only Damen could hear the quick catch in his breath as he wondered at his own daring. Laurent’s eyes bore down on his prey, daring the Regent to argue, but for once the man knew better.

“This is just –” the Regent looked down from the eye staring contest, spluttering for words – “Just petty vengeance, you should –” Laurent took a tiny step forward. One more light dancing step was all it would take.

“ _Petty”_ he echoed – “ _Vengeance._ ” He shook his head – “Forgiveness is over-rated.” Damen saw the sword arm tense, so did the Regent.

“Please Laurent –” it was a last ditch effort – “I love you. I always loved you – nobody else will ever love you like I did.”

Laurent’s face twitched in a snarl. He fought it down.

“Now that” he said, calmly “Is the first true thing you’ve said.”

Laurent moved forward one last time, a light dancing, lunging step. The sword blade was red when he stepped back, it clashed with the blue of the throne room. Damen let go of the body letting it slump to the floor. Laurent turned away, uninterested or unwilling to look at it.

“Take it away” He ordered with an airy flutter of one hand. Damen knew the order was not for him and called for the nearest guards. They came in fast and when they were gone there were only the two of them in the throne room. Laurent had already walked back up the steps to the throne. Damen followed and put a hand on his shoulder. Laurent turned and only when their eyes met did he allow the shaking to start.  He buried his face in Damen’s chest, trembling from relief and repression to name but two of the emotions that felt right now to be too big for his body. Damen held him until he went still, which was sooner than either of them expected and when Laurent looked up at him again they were both of them sat on one throne and both of them were smiling.

__x__

 

**Yeah….I really _really_ want Laurent to kill the Regent! Not necessarily like this, actually I have about half a dozen ways in which I’d like to see him die….maybe I should write all of them?! :-)**

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

**I thought perhaps I was long overdue for a scene or two from that Happy Ever After we’ve been promised. Some angst, some comfort, some soppiness. Here go. :-)**

They had taken down the border line over a year ago now. With the kingdoms united there had seemed little need to keep it and indeed plenty of reasons to do away with it altogether. Ravenal, however remained, although it was becoming barely recognisable from the fort it used to be.

There was little to not understand in the nostalgia that had led them to Ravenal, although they both hid behind the practicality of its location right in the centre of the newly forged kingdom. If Damen had had it his way they would not have changed a thing from that first night they had spent here; it seemed a century ago now. He remembered distinctly, how he had thought at the time it would be the only perfect night he would ever know. In the end it had turned out instead to just be the first of many.

Laurent on the other hand, _insisted_ on there being changes made, _of course_ – as Damen sighed at him. Within weeks of their taking residence he was ordering sections of fortifications to be removed and replaced with gardens; where the courtyards had once been practical they were now, out of lack of necessity, rapidly becoming –

“Frivolous” Damen asserted and –

“Attractive” Laurent corrected as they had stood on the ramparts one evening, watching the gardeners packing up for the day – “Trust you not to know the difference. If we are going to live here – even for some of the time it has to be at least a little bit –”

“Pretentious?”

“Pretty! Stop that. If it was up to you we’d mount weapons on the walls instead of artworks.”

“Sounds good” Damen could not help but continue, now that he had started – “Swords for the bedroom maybe? I have a beautiful battle axe somewhere we could –”

“If you don’t shut up” Laurent said, smiling – “You won’t be _seeing_ the inside of the bedroom to have any say in the matter of its décor.”

“Oh is that right?”

“That’s –” Laurent gave up, Damen was pressing him gently but insistently into the rampart wall, holding him in place with small but mounting kisses.

“What is it with you and this stretch of the wall?” Laurent sighed a little later as they moved on.

“You know what it is with me and this stretch of the wall”

“I’ll have to remind everyone else who ever comes here not to do so with you.”

“Have I told you yet today how impossible you are?”

“Only twice” Laurent slipped his hand into Damen’s as they walked, it was a trusting gesture and almost childish – “You’ll have to work harder.”

“You’re impossible. At some point I shall have to remind you that I hate you too.”

“Mmm, Why break with tradition. You know I feel the same.”

“My sweetheart.”

Somewhere, at some point, they seemed to have adopted _sweetheart_ as a familiar term of endearment. At first it had got Damen worried, remembering the first time and how little Laurent had meant it like that then, how little he could ever have imagined them saying it like this. There was always a hint of sarcasm, of mocking reminder in the way they both said it, suggesting it to be an untruth even when it was not. The sarcasm was a lie now and they both knew it, yet kept it in for old time’s sake, even if that old time was, marvellously less than two years ago now.

But they were building new traditions like they built new garden walls, so strong and aesthetically pleasing you would think they had been there forever. The need for at least this appearance of strength was one of the few weaknesses Laurent let anyone else see. And even that was more than he had allowed in the past. He supposed that if he could at least make it look to the world like the way things were now was the way they had always been he might begin to believe it himself and thereby cover the old past with this new one they had dreamed up.

Because after all it was a dream built up out of the reality of the present and the present – what they had now – was wonderful. He vacillated wildly between believing in this time to be a dream and thinking it was the past that had been a nightmare and this alone was real. It still seemed too tricky to try and accept a middle ground, though Damen assured him it would come. It was difficult, even in the midst of almost perfect happiness, to accept it as belonging to oneself, to imagine that one could deserve it. He persistently felt slow in not having reached that point already, internally berated himself for his doubts and left over fears and felt ungrateful every time he woke up from nightmares that no amount of present happiness would fully drive away.

“I’m sorry” he said one night, as he lay with his head nestled into Damen’s arm, Damen’s other arm around him to hold his hand, tracing comforting circles into the palm – “I’m – sorry”

“Sorry for what?”

It seemed like there was a lot to be sorry for but all he could manage was –

“I didn’t mean to wake you”. Damen shrugged, he did not need to tell him again that he had told him to wake him anytime.

“I should be over this”. Damen could not see his face in the dark but his voice was annoyed with himself more than especially sad. Damen said nothing; it was Laurent who had taught him not to answer until the specific question was asked, and he did not need to ask what _this_ was – “Shouldn’t I?”

“Should you? I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“It’s been _years.”_

“And for how many of them have you even tried to sleep properly?”

“Don’t be – that’s not the point. I –”

“You want to argue against my every rational point that could make you feel better. You want me to tell you you’re wrong? That you’ve ever done anything wrong? You want me to let you carry on thinking the worst of yourself – you’re on your own. All I can tell you is what I see – and what I see is you getting better every day, having less bad dreams each week and the gaps between these thoughts of yours getting longer every time. No I’m not going to tell you everything’s alright or even that it will get alright soon. But I can see you trying and I can see it coming and I know that even if you never get all the way there things will get better and better until it hardly matters and – why are you smiling?”

“Because you’re a pain.”

“I’m a pain because I’m right or a pain because I’m wrong?”

“Because you’re right of course, my dear annoying brute – didn’t I say – you’re _always_ right. Now shut up and let me get back to sleep.”

It didn’t entirely sound like acceptance of his words but they knew each other well enough now for Damen to suspect that it might have been all the same.

That morning they stayed in bed late, rolling like cats in the sun that rolled warmly in through the window, warming the walls and catching gold in the bed curtains.

“Did you ever imagine –” Damen said, lazily, “It would be like this?”

He was lying on his stomach on top of the sheets to cool down; Laurent, who seemed to have magically self-regulating body temperature, was half lying, still under the sheets, back against the head board.

“No” Laurent replied, too quickly, Damen looked at him quickly, disbelieving, instantly hearing something more beneath the answer. Laurent blushed ever so slightly to have been so caught out – “No I mean I – I didn’t think I could even _like_ you at first. You know that. Did I ever think we could be –” he made a tiny hand gesture that for Laurent was expansive – “Happy? No. I didn’t dare think that. Not ever. But you didn’t ask me what I _thought_ you asked what I _imagined_ and –” he broke off, becoming suddenly fascinated by his fingernails. He was smiling though and Damen was not in a mood to let it go –

“And?”

“I imagined it” Laurent said quietly.

Damen grinned.

“Shut up about it” Laurent added, considerably less quietly.

Needless to say, it was a long time before Damen shut up about it.

__x__

 

**My full idea would be that they could live at Ravenal for a lot of the time but travel frequently between Arles and Ios. I think maybe they’d enjoy all the back and forth. :-) I will doubtless write more scenes of a happy nature set in this ever after world! :-)**


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